Grocery Stores
by SamuraiSal1
Summary: England and America aren't often together for long enough to have to set time apart to shop for groceries, so when Christmas comes around, grocery-shopping tends to bring about the worst of them. But maybe, just maybe, it invokes a certain air of domesticity between them. USUK with a side of Franada.


Prompt: USUK—Shopping for Christmas Dinner, bonus for Franada. (For the FACE Christmas Exchange on Tumblr.)

For Eloisan.

* * *

England disliked American grocery stores. It wasn't to say he hated them, but certain things were just plain awful. There were entire aisles dedicated to junk-food or sweets, encouraging shoppers to give into the urge to stuff their faces with unhealthy food for no apparent reason. It was something that America the Personification had quite a problem with already, and perhaps that's part of the reason England disliked it so much. He'd have to hear America whine about not getting his favorite (excessively fatty) snack until England gave in and bought it for him, and then he'd have to hear about him whine about going to the gym (or even more pathetic whines, when he didn't go to the gym and thus would have glaring matches with the scale).

So, no—England didn't like American grocery stores. He could normally avoid them, since they usually only visited eachother for a few days at a time.

However, during the holiday season, it was inevitable. They'd always managed to get more than two weeks to spend together for the holidays, and while England certainly enjoyed the benefits of _that_, he was not the greatest fan of doing grocery shopping with his love.

One would think that after several years, he'd have gotten used to it by then, but evidently not. Ah, well—even if they had to spend more time in close quarters, which always led to more (usually petty) arguments, England couldn't deny that he really did enjoy the time he got to spend with America during the holidays.

So, entering the store with a list in one hand and his love holding his other, England was fully prepared to face the day.

Twenty minutes into the actual shopping, however, he was notably less enthusiastic.

"Ugh, you're taking forever," America grumbled, even as he slid his arms around England's waist and rested his head on the other nation's shoulder. "Seriously. There are only so many different versions of stuffing. Just pick one and let's get _on_ with it."

"Oh, belt up," England snapped, still glancing between the boxes. "They don't have these versions back at my place and I want to make sure they'll taste decent."

America sighed. "Look, babe, don't know how to break this to you, but it's gonna taste nasty either way. So just pick whichever one you think will taste decent when you burn it, okay?"

England scowled at his love for a moment, then slammed one of the boxes into the cart. "Content?" There was the feeling of air on the back of England's neck, and he rolled his eyes at the other nation's theatrics. "Don't be a whiner. You're the one who told me to just choose one willy-nilly."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you were gonna choose _that one_," America stressed. "Can you just—"

"No," England snapped. "This one's cheaper anyways, and after that crack about my cooking, I don't want any more of your salary going to waste, if you're not going to eat it anyways."

"But I do eat it anyways," America groaned. "Look, babe—"

"My name is Arthur in public, and if you insist upon calling me those ridiculous petnames, I swear next time we're out in public I'll be sure to tell every American citizen how charming the belched version of their national anthem is, courtesy of that lovely video you sent me."

America glared at him, crossing his arms as that frown turned into little more than a childish pout. England just huffed and pushed the cart forward.

A few minutes later found them crossing off eggs, milk and yogurt. However, when they got to the ice-cream section, everything started slipping.

"Ah, now this is where it's at," America said, pressing his palms against the glass, starting at the semi-rectangular cartons with nothing less than a predatorial gaze.

England gently nudged the other nation out of the way, reaching forward for plain, non-fat vanilla, only to have America push his hand away.

"Dude—what are you doing? Don't get that kind of ice cream!" America cried.

England glanced down, realizing what he'd started to pull. "Oh, dear me, I'm so sorry. Whatever could I have been thinking?" he asked, sarcastic as ever, before sliding his hand over to the non-fat chocolate flavor.

"No, still bad!" America maneuvered his way in-between England and the ice-cream selections. At England's WTF-face, he chuckled and tried to explain, "You're browsing the non-fat section, see? Everything there tastes nasty. You might as well be having frozen-yogurt or something. And frozen-yogurt does not taste as good as ice cream. It's just a fact of life."

England gave him a long look before finally asking, "I know that quite well, actually, but with the way you're devouring the holiday cookies, I fear it's a sacrifice you're going to have to make."

America nearly choked. "Are you implying something?!"

"Nothing at all," the English nation said, a shrewd tone taking over. "I would simply prefer it if you wouldn't die of heart-disease before you turn five-hundred, is all."

What would have been a _very_ tense silence was broken by the arrival of two familiar faces. One call of "Hello," and one call of "Bonjour!" startled the couple from their spat, and England and America looked up just in time to see France and Canada making their way over to them.

"Yo! Canadia! Wasn't aware you were in this area. What brings you to my humble abode?" America asked, grinning.

"It's a supermarket, it's no one's house," Canada pointed out, but his voice was quickly drowned out by France's outburst of, "Mon Dieu! Angleterre, tell me you are not seriously going to buy zat!"

England leveled him with a glare. "It's just ice cream, you idiot. Don't make something out of nothing."

"But he's totally right, and as expected I'm correct as well—non-fat ice cream is seriously awful, you agree with me, right France?" America asked, nudging his elbow into France's ribs, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

"Ehhh?" France glanced up, horrified. "Non, non! You should not be getting ice cream at all, it is 'orribly out of season! If you are going to have sweets, have warm sweets! They are so much better in zis cold weather, after all."

And naturally it descended from there, the three nations getting into a miniature brawl, with Canada simply watching from the side-lines. He occasionally tried to interfere, but unfortunately didn't manage to get more than a few words in before they went back to what they were doing.

After what felt like an hour but was probably closer to fifteen minutes, they finally broke apart the fight, fortunately managing to keep the store's security out of it.

"What are you guys even here for, anyways?" America asked, rubbing at his elbow, trying (and failing) to act nonchalant at the bruise that was inevitably forming there.

"Ah, we were going to surprise you with a cake on Christmas, but we realized we'd forgotten the eggs," Canada said with a tense smile. "I suppose this ruins the surprise though, eh?"

"It does, yes," England agreed. "However now that you're here, would you like to stay at our house for a few nights? It's much less costly than a hotel, and America has more than enough rooms…"

America looked about ready to protest—(No doubt something like, "It's not cool to invite people over to my house without my permission!")—but France and Canada were already in the process of agreeing.

"Sure, that sounds great," Canada said, before France could say something rude that would spoil everything. "Let's just check out, and we'll meet you guys at the car."

So the two couples parted ways, and after a few slightly awkward minutes, America finally broke the silence. "So, it's our house now, huh?"

England stared at him for a minute, and unexpectedly smiled. "I suppose it is, love." He leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss on America's lips. Before either of them could really enjoy it, though, England patted America on the cheeks and pulled away, glancing immediately back to the grocery list. "Now—what type of bread to you usually get, and where is it located?"

America just groaned and smacked his hand to his forehead. "Dude—I don't even read the atmosphere and that was bad. Don't just kill the mood like that, man!"

England rolled his eyes and pushed the cart forwards, not bothering to wait up for the other nation, knowing full well that America, as always, would follow behind him.

Even if it took him a bit to catch up.

* * *

Merry Christmas to Eloisan!


End file.
